Been Too Long
by Supergirl 55
Summary: Alternating Buffy/Spike POV. Why Spike always brings his handcuffs when he goes to sit outside Buffy's window


**AUTHOR:** Supergirl  
**TITLE:** Been Too Long  
**TIMELINE:** Sometime not too long after "Normal Again" (pretend "Entropy" never happened)  
**SPOILERS:** season 6 episodes: "Normal Again," "As You Were," and "Smashed"  
**RATING:** R, for sexual situations, lots of mild swearing, and one little word that's not so mild  
**DISCLAIMER:** You know, my shrink keeps telling me I'm not Joss Whedon, but it's just so hard to grasp...  
**DEDICATION:** To my wonderful sis, Irene, who had nothing to do with this story, has never read fanfic in her life, and probably doesn't even know the show _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ exists... but still deserves something dedicated to her, just 'cause I love her an' stuff.  
**FEEDBACK:** I want it! I need it! I crave it like vampires crave blood!  
**DISTRIBUTION: **Just ask  
**AUTOR'S NOTE: **This fic has not been beta read. I apologize for all mistakes and imperfections. If you notice any, feel free to tell me, it would be appreciated.   
  
  
  
  
***  
  
It's been too long. Too freakin' long.   
  
Bet he doesn't know I still want him. He makes these claims, like I need him to survive, like it's only so far I can last without him, but I bet he doesn't really know. He doesn't know how right he is.   
  
I lie here in my bed, rigid and stiff, waiting for the night to be over. Waiting for the damned day to start, so I can put on that fake smile they've all grown so accustomed to, and tell them lies about how I'm fine.   
  
Do the things I need to do. Instead of this waiting.   
  
Do my job, like a good Slayer. Like a good little girl. Work. Fight demons. Take care of Dawn. Look for nerds. God, I'm going to murder those guys when I find them. They did that to me, they almost made me kill my friends.   
  
And that reminds me of something else I'll need to do tomorrow. Apologize. Tomorrow and every day after that. Apologize and beg for forgiveness. Until I'm blue in the face from it. It's never enough. I don't know if it will ever be, if anything I do will ever make the guilt go away.   
  
Or even lessen.   
  
I used to go to him for this. Damn it, it's been way too long. In the past, when I felt scared, or lonely, or alone, -- or just downright hopeless -- I used to always go to him.   
  
Spike's got this soothing effect on me. I mean, obviously, the sex helps. The incredible, mind-numbing, earth-shattering sex certainly does help. It dulls the pain. But what used to make that pain, that worry, go away (if even for a little bit) was being held in his arms. Knowing that I didn't have to try for him. That he loved me.   
  
He loves me. Somebody loves me unconditionally. Even if I never love him back. Even if I never give him anything in return, he loves me. No matter what I do. No matter how much I screw up.   
  
God, I need that right now. Because I've screwed up. Royally. And my friends, they can't help.   
  
Sure, I know I have their understanding and support. They all realize it was just the demon and its wacky poison that did that to me. That and not drinking the antidote, which I guess I can't really blame on the demon. That part was me.   
  
But this self-induced guilt-trip really wasn't my point. So what was, you ask? My point is that they're not Spike. They understand, but they're not him. They can't comfort me like he can. Like he used to.   
  
But damn it, it's been too freakin' long.   
  
***   
  
I sit outside and watch her. Watch her sleep behind her little window, newly festooned with garlic, just like she had it a few months ago after the first time we'd shagged. Garlic to keep the big, bad vampires out. Garlic to keep _me_ out. Garlic to keep herself _in_. Good strategy, luv.   
  
Bugger, am I a masochist or what?   
  
No, not in that kinky way. Though that too (not like I've ever tried to hide _that_ particular inclination), but that's not what I mean.   
  
Watchin' her like this. It's bleedin' torture. And yet here I sit. For several hours now. Just. Bloody. Watchin' 'er.   
  
William, you sodden wanker. Just go already. But my arms, my legs don't listen. They make no move to start climbing off. I'm still here, in this damned tree. I'm still putting myself through this torture.   
  
Look but don't touch.   
  
It's been too bloody long. Too bloody, damned, sodding, buggerin'... _fucking_ long.   
  
Too long for a shag? Yeah, you tell yourself that, Spike. Tell yourself that's all she was. Go on, mate, feed yourself the lies. Shove them down your own throat like she shoves them down hers, when she says she doesn't need you anymore. When she tells you _you_ were just a shag.   
  
Doesn't need me? Bollocks! She damned well needs me. And she damned well knows it too. Denial, is what it is. You need me, Buffy. Right now, luv, you need me more than anything.   
  
I know it's been too long. For both of us.   
  
Look but don't touch. That's right precious, innit? Too good for me and my filthy hands. It's like she's some museum rarity, behind a thick glass.   
  
Wait, she _is_ behind a glass -- window, you git. There goes _that_ poetic metaphor.   
  
William, you poofter, there you go again with the poetry. Spike, you bloody nitwit. Why are you still here?   
  
Guess I really do have a taste for that torture.   
  
Once I sat up here for nearly an hour and watched her pork the soldier boy. Several times. Taking rests in between, for the breath catchin' an' such. I never needed a soddin' rest, did I, baby? Could go for longer than that, too, and nonstop, unlike him.   
  
Surprisingly, not my point.   
  
Point is, that was somethin' right bloody 'orrible to witness. And not just because it was sickening as all hell, seein' her with that beefy, inbred farm-boy, but because the jealousy was eatin' me alive. Err... well, you know, figure of speech and wot all.   
  
Torture? You better bloody well bet it was. But not like this.   
  
And _that_ would be my point: that this, now, it's even worse than that was. A million times worse. Seeing her with someone else w's damned painful, you know it, but seein' her alone like this? Alone, when she needs me there with her, needs me there so badly? Knowing that it may have been too long for me, but that I can survive, while for her it's near too long to even bare it? That, believe me, is worse than anything.   
  
***   
  
Tara knows. I'm sure she knows. The rest of them haven't a clue. Not even Dawn. Not even my own sister, and I practically told her myself. 'A girl who sleeps with a vampire she hates?' Yup, that's me. And Spike would be the vampire, thank you very much, in case you haven't guessed. Not that there aren't others I hate... hate them all, in fact, like a good slayer should... Spike's the only one I've slept with. Angel, you know, had a soul, so he doesn't count. Plus I don't hate him, like all the others.   
  
Getting off track, Buffy.   
  
Guess Dawn wrote it off as more mindless psychotic rambling. Just like the rest of those things I was saying. After all, it was that demon juice, right? Making me act crazy. Giving me all sorts of delusions, like the fact that my parents were still together. Like the idea that I didn't have a sister. Like the thought that I could possibly not need my friends; that it was ok to hurt them, to kill them even, just to get out of this world that was real and back to one that didn't even exist.   
  
Yup, crazy, psycho Buffy, with all those insane hallucinations in her head. So why not add boffing Spike to the mix? Sex with the resident Semi-Evil-Undead, isn't that just the perfect topper to finish off my big heaping bowl of nutso? Or, wait, better yet, why not throw in how I was starting to fall in love with him? Now if that isn't loony, I don't know what is.   
  
No, I didn't tell Dawn that part. The love part. Just about the sex.   
  
The love part no one will ever hear about. Except maybe Tara. Well, not hear in the sense that I'm planning on telling her. Like ever. Oooh no... no way. Like I could even utter that sort of thing out loud.   
  
But she already knows. I'm sure she knows. I look at her and she looks back, and I can tell.   
  
Not like the rest of them. Not even him.   
  
He talks about it like he knows, all arrogant and smart, but he doesn't really know anything. 'You could finally be at peace. In the dark. With me.' I could be, you know. Yes, Spike, I'm admitting it. Although you'll never actually get to hear these words.   
  
To that little picture in my head that represents you, I'm admitting it.   
  
The thing is, I don't want to be in the dark. Not all the time, not deep inside. I do need my friends. My family. But I need you too. I need what we had. And then I really could be at peace, with you lying here next to me, holding me in your arms.   
  
Instead, I'm alone.   
  
God, I just wish tomorrow would get here already. Get here so I can get up, go back into my routine, stop thinking about him. Man, how I wish it was day. I'm starting to really hate the nights.   
  
I hear rustling outside my window. That's the other thing I hate. Those stupid squirrels. I'd like to kill them all. I wish they were stakabe like vampires. If they were, I guarantee you there'd be none left around this neighborhood in less than a day or two. Man, I hate them.   
  
Acting all innocent. 'We didn't mean to wake you up, Buffy.' Ok, so I know squirrels can't talk. And besides, they didn't really wake me up. You want to know the real reason why I hate those dumb things so much? That rustling, it makes me think someone's out there. It makes me think _he's_ out there.   
  
But of course he's not. It's just those stupid squirrels.   
  
So what am I doing getting up?   
  
***   
  
I reach into my pocket and run my fingers over one large metal ring. It's attached to another. Handcuffs.   
  
I always bring them.   
  
Since the "breakup," if you can call it that, I've been doing this more and more. Coming here and sitting in her tree. Watching her sleep. Smoking. Playing with those handcuffs in my pocket. I always bring them when I come. And then I sit here and play with them, and wonder what it would be like to open up that window and climb into her room. To wait for her to wake, open her eyes and see me, and (damn it, it's my fantasy, I can be as bloody unrealistic as I please) not get up and throw me back out head first, like she had once threatened she would.   
  
In my fantasy she just sits up slightly in her bed and looks at me, and she doesn't say a thing. I'm silent as well, as I slowly remove my clothes and watch her greedy eyes devour me. I've seen that look. That look of plain, animalistic hunger. She denies wanting me as badly as I know she does, but trust me, I've seen that look.   
  
She had that look the night in the abandoned house. Seeing me for the first time. After round one... and a repeat of round one... we'd separated and undressed, and I got to watch her watching me. And I got to see that look in her eyes.   
  
That's how I imagine her looking at me as I divest myself of the last of my clothing, and move to pull back her sheets. Underneath I find her naked, ready for me.   
  
Yeah, yeah, I know, Blondie doesn't sleep naked. Well alright, I don't _know_, seein' as I've never had the luxury of finding out, but I'm still smart enough to wager on it.   
  
Bet she's got some sort of bloody adorable nighties, like the kind all little girls wear. With kittens an' puppies on 'em, or wot not.   
  
But this is _my_ bleedin' fantasy, and in my fantasy she sleeps naked.   
  
I climb over her on the bed, and as I reach her ear I imagine whispering the words that I know we're both thinking: "Been too long..."   
  
I imagine that she smiles at me on that. Maybe a little sad. Maybe a little wistful. Or perhaps almost flirting, even. But either way, acknowledging that I'm right.   
  
Then I climb off, and she immediately looks scared, like I'm going to leave her. But I give her a small grin in reassurance. "Don't worry, baby, I'm here."   
  
Then I pick up my duster, and I reach into the pocket to pull out the handcuffs.   
  
"Remember these?"   
  
I don't ask her permission. She gives it with her eyes. She wants this.   
  
Trust.   
  
No, I shouldn't think of it like that. It's just another way to get off. Bondage is just a kink, right? One that she's picked up from me, not to mention.   
  
But I can't help seeing it as more.   
  
She knows I have the power to kill her. By letting me do this, she's showing she trusts me. And even more than I need her to, I know she needs it herself. To trust someone. To let somebody love her. To let herself love back.   
  
Hell, am I a bloody fool for thinking this sort oh blithering rot. The Slayer in love with me? Not bloody likely.   
  
But leave me to my fantasy, luv, and I'm content. I know I'll never hear it from the real you, but in my fantasy, as I rise above you and you lift your hips to meet mine, body writhing against the sheets of your _own_ bed this time, in your own room, hands cuffed to your own headboard, I see your lips move ever so slightly.   
  
There's no sound, but I can see your mouth making out the words "I love you."   
  
That's about the time I usually realize just how bloody stupid that whole fantasy is, and I forcefully shake it from my mind. And that's about the time I climb down from that tree and shove off. Bloody hell, been needin' to do that for a long time now.   
  
But it's all been too bleeding long, you know?   
  
And I can't help wishing I actually had the stones to open up that window and climb in, right past that bloody frightenin' garlic she's hung up. See what she says when she sees me. See if she really _does_ hurl me back out head first, like she promised she would.   
  
Or if she doesn't, see the look on her face when I show 'er those handcuffs. Those sodding handcuffs that I always bring when I go to sit here in her tree, pretending like I'm really gonna do it this time.   
  
But I won't. I never do. Instead I'm getting down from here, like a right wanker, and heading home.   
  
By the way, getting ready to climb off? It makes the leaves rustle. So? So, she's a light sleeper. I know she can hear.   
  
Guess she blames it on the squirrels. Damned buggers. My salvation, actually -- the only reason she has yet to catch me up here. But maybe I want her to catch me. See what'll 'appen if she does.   
  
And those squirrels completely muck that up, don't they? Sod the damned critters.   
  
But why is she getting up and walking toward the window?   
  
***   
  
Spike! Spike is at my window! No way. It can't be...   
  
"Spike?"   
  
At first it's surprise on his face -- probably didn't expect me to catch him -- but then I watch his lips curl into that trademark smirk of his.   
  
"What are you doing here?"   
  
He doesn't answer. Silent treatment? I can play that game.   
  
I take down the strands of garlic, open the glass, and pull him in by the arm. Now he's in my room, standing in front of me.   
  
Good going, Buffy. Now what are you supposed to do?   
  
Lucky for me, Spike moves first. He puts a finger under my chin and lifts my head up, gently, so our eyes meet. I gaze into his blue ones, the most beautiful blue I've ever seen, and find in them all the love, passion, anger, and pain that he's been holding back since I left him.   
  
And then he kisses me. And I can taste all those same things on his lips.   
  
God, I've needed this for I can't tell you how long. His arms wrap around me, pulling me closer, and I respond in kind, slipping mine under his coat and caressing the muscles of his back. Touching him again, it almost feels too good to be true.   
  
He's an amazingly good kisser, have I ever mentioned that? All soft and hard at the same time; love, hate, and cigarettes on his breath, and this special, indescribable Spike quality that only he has. And when it's been this long since a guy has touched you, every sensation is magnified like a thousand times over. That might make this quite possibly the best kiss of my life.   
  
It's like... wow. Beyond wow. It's... Spike kissage.   
  
I go all melty in his arms almost as soon as his lips touch mine. It's the same effect his kisses have always had on me. Even from the start, even two years ago, when we were under that spell of Willow's. Yeah, that silly engagement spell. Like I would ever think of marrying Spike. Sh-yeah. Oh, but the way he had kissed me... I never told him this, but even after that spell was broken, I still thought his kisses had been amazing.   
  
Man, how I love that mouth. Still.   
  
This time the kiss starts out light and incredibly gentle. I can tell Spike's scared -- I could push him away at any second, I know that's what he's thinking. But I don't. I continue to let him kiss me, almost as if it's our first, and slowly the kiss grows in intensity, until by the time I finally do pull back we're both panting, gasping for air.   
  
He shouldn't have to do that. But he always does. He shouldn't need the oxygen.   
  
Sometimes I think it's about me, which knowing Spike is most likely true. I like to think that it's because something in me makes him feel human. Or maybe makes him _want_ to be human, rather. Makes him want to be something other than evil. Then maybe there's hope for him yet. Hope for us. Because I'm the one who gives him that feeling.   
  
There are no words spoken between us, as I step back and move towards the bed, taking his hand in mine and pulling him with me. I've got my sushi pajamas on, and suddenly I feel completely dopey for having worn them. Because look at me: I've got a man in my bedroom, about to do some very grown-up things with him, and here I am, dressed like a child. In little girl jammies with pictures of Japanese food on them. Bet Spike thinks they're "bloody adorable."   
  
With a coy smile I begin to unbutton my top, and he watches me in fascination, before taking my lead and starting to remove his own clothing. He's not looking at what he's doing. His eyes are on me the whole time.   
  
I love that he does that, every time I undress, watches me like he's never seen me naked before. Almost like he's never been with a woman at all. As if instead of being a hundred-and-something-year-old vampire with a truckload of sexual experience (from, no doubt, having been with a truckload of slutty women), he's some simple school boy, and I'm to be his first.   
  
It makes me feel all sorts of sexy. Come on, Spike. I'll teach you a thing or two.   
  
Ok, so I'm lame. I like to pretend like I'm some sort of... I don't know... what's a woman with great sexual prowess? Well, it doesn't matter really, because it's entirely not true. The truth is, most of the experience I've had has been with Spike. I mean, let's see: there was my first time -- Angel. That was... nice. Very, very nice. Ice-cream-on-a-hot-day nice. Mmmm... But still, not really a lot of anything. Which, you know, was a good thing, because I know Angel's gotta be at least as experienced as Spike is, but if he'd tried anything too fancy with me while I was a virgin...   
  
Well, let's not go there. Anyway, it was nice. But just the one time, unfortunately. Evil Gypsy curse, no perfect happiness or he turns all psycho... you know how that goes. Or, I guess you wouldn't, would you?   
  
I'm getting off track again.   
  
So there was Angel. Then there was Parker. Yeah, let's not even mention that creep. Except to say that, again, only once. Turns out while I thought it was the start of a relationship, he thought it was a one night romp. Life's pretty funny that way, huh?   
  
I remember saying something to Willow, like 'Does this always happen? Sleep with a guy and he goes all evil?' Guess I figured out the perfect solution. Sleep with a guy who's already evil. Poof -- problem gone.   
  
But before Spike there was Riley. A year-and-a-half of him to be exact. Though that wasn't anything special either. Not that it wasn't good, because it was... but no variety. Riley's not the type of guy to be particularly wild in bed. I mean, aside from the time we were under that evil sex-'til-you-die spell...   
  
But other than that one time (or those couple'a dozen times, to be more precise), everything else was all plain and regular. I think he figured he was treating me like a lady by making it simple -- always the same. Not asking me to do anything unusual. Just standard love-making. Like a perfect gentleman.   
  
Him on top. Me on the bottom. No games, no dirty talk, and definitely never anything kinky like bondage...   
  
Spike has a thing for it, you know. But sometimes I start to think that it's more to him than just a naughty fetish, and that kinda scares me. Because I know it does mean more. At least with him it does. With us.   
  
I know exactly _what_ it means, too. It means...   
  
Gulp. Trust.   
  
It's his only way to get me to -- at least silently -- admit that I trust him. Maybe that's why Spike likes bondage so much. Like handcuffs. He's got this pair of shiny silver ones... um, much like the ones he's just pulled from the pocket of his duster.   
  
There's a glint in his eye. He holds up the cuffs with one hand, dangling them in front of me, then his other arm goes around my waist and pulls me to him. He takes the handcuffs and glides the cool metal across my cheek, then down my nude body, leaning in to my ear to softly whisper, "Been too long, pet."   
  
You better believe it has.   
  
Much too long, I think to myself, as I press another kiss to his lips, pulling him down with me, and we fall effortlessly onto the bed. There's only one thing Spike does better than kissing. Ok, so there are like thousands of different _ways_ he can do it, but I'm thinking I should file it all under one category.   
  
You want to know why we really broke up? Well not "broke up," because there wasn't much to break up in the first place, I guess... but do you want to know why I left him?   
  
I got scared.   
  
Ok, I'll admit it. The big, tough Slayer got scared. I was falling for him, falling hard, and I couldn't handle it. Not love. Love is a scary, frightening thing. And not just because he's a vampire ('cause lord knows how well it ended the first time I fell in love with one). Not even just because he's Spike. I mean, that was a large part of it, but not all.   
  
Another large part was just love in general. The truth is I've been scared out of my wits of it, ever since Angel left. With Riley, I could pretend. But Spike, Spike just had to make it a little too real for me.   
  
So I got scared. And I ran. But I don't want to run anymore.   
  
As Spike moves above me, slowly, his body rising and falling, his eyes fixed on mine the whole time, I know. I look into his eyes and I know.   
  
"I love you."   
  
***   
  
She whispers it barely audible, just like I had imagined. There's no bloody way in hell this could be real. Right now, I couldn't care if you paid me.   
  
It might be another fantasy -- hell, I know it is -- but I don't care one bit. Because Buffy's just said she loves me. And that's all that matters right now. Because for once this particular fantasy feels a little more real than the others. For once I know she means it.   
  
There's tears running down my face. I can feel them. Bloody hell, I must be some real type of ponce to start blubberin' like this. But I don't care.   
  
I let the tears come. I kiss her, kiss her face all over, and I know she can feel the tears too. I realize then that some of them are hers. She's crying just like I am.   
  
You don't know how long I've waited to hear it, luv. I'd given up hope that this moment would ever come. That you could ever love a monster like me.   
  
But you mean it, I know you do.   
  
She means it. I can see it in her eyes. I can taste it on her sweet, sweet lips.   
  
"Say it again, pet," I beg, desperate to hear it as many times as I can before this dream is over, "Please, Buffy, please. Say it again."   
  
"I love you. I love you, Spike."   
  
Bloody hell, she's so beautiful. I tell her I love her too. Over an' over. A million times wouldn't be enough. I kiss her lips, face, neck, down to her breasts and up her arms, wanting to taste every inch of her, as if committing this moment to sense memory. Damn it if she's not the most amazing, magnificent creature that I've ever had the grace to touch.   
  
I used to think Dru was. Truth is she doesn't compare. Yes, even my Black Goddess doesn't begin to rival Buffy's beauty. She's got nothing on her. No woman in the world does.   
  
But hell, how I loved her back in the day. For more than a hundred years. Drusilla was everything to me.   
  
She never said it herself, you know. In over a century, never once told me she loved me. Oh, she loved her dolls... and blood, she loved blood... loved a good, fun kill... torture, sure did love that... Oh, and the stars. She always used to talk about how she loved the bright, sparkling stars, and the all the wonderful things they'd whisper to her. Loved her precious Daddy, too. I remember her constantly telling me so. If I didn't care as much for the chit, I just might have bashed her skull in one of those days for how sick I got of hearing about Angelus and how much she loved him.   
  
But she never once said she loved _me_. In all that time. Not once.   
  
Must've told her about a million times, m'self. On average, I probably said it more to her than to Blondie, even though I'm sure I must love Buffy unfathomably more than I ever could've loved anyone else, including Dru.   
  
Don't even know why I felt the need to say it so bloody often. Maybe some naive part of me kept hoping that if I said it as many times as I could, one of those days she's actually say it back. Instead of just nuzzling my neck in response, before she went back into her own world, muttering something about Miss Edith again.   
  
But with Buffy... I'm not really sure what it is. I know I've always wanted her to know it. Never felt the glaring need to keep reminding her, though. Probably figured if she didn't love me back, there wasn't anything I could do to change that fact. And I was right. It wasn't anything I did. It was just a matter of her allowing herself to love again.   
  
She's never let me keep her handcuffed for this long, so I reach to unsnap them, but she shakes her head and whispers "Don't."   
  
She gives me a shy, tentative smile.   
  
"I trust you."   
  
***   
  
And then I wake up.   
  
Damn it!   
  
I sit up in bed, angry, and scream it out into the darkness: "Damn it, damn it, damn it!!!" I don't care if I wake Willow or Dawn. I'm mad as hell, and I really don't care.   
  
God, I hate that dream! It's the third time I've had it, and each time I hate it even more.   
  
Damn it. Damn _you_, Spike. Stupid vampire, won't leave me alone, even in my sleep.   
  
Impulsively I get up and walk over to the window. I draw back the curtains. I peek outside. Nothing. Nothing at all, just those dumb squirrels with their rustling. Cursed creatures.   
  
He's not out there. I should've known he wouldn't be.   
  
Please, what would I do if he was? Open the window and pull him inside? Kiss him? Take off my clothes and let him make love to me? Let him handcuff me to the headboard of my own bed? That's right, mine, not his. You think I'd do that? Let him take me in my own room? Tell him I love him?   
  
Yeah right. To quote the man himself, not bloody likely.   
  
I don't love him, I hate him.   
  
Fine, I don't hate him. But I don't love him. Ok, fine! So I maybe do. I'm still not telling _him_ that. Never. Never in a million years.   
  
I lie back in bed with a sigh, closing my eyes; knowing that sleep won't come, but at least grateful for that fact that the dreadful night's halfway over.   
  
I don't know what it is, that makes it hurt oh so much. That leaves that hollow in my chest, which won't go away.   
  
I guess it's just that it's been too damned, freakin' long.   
  
***   
  
Bloody hell.   
  
Not that sodding dream again. The one where Blondie tells me she loves me. You know what? I bet it's the damned chip. Yeah, I'd wager a right sum on it, even. Bet it's got some sort of mind reading mechanism set up, just to torment me. Zero in on the best scenario to drive me insane, then play it over an' over, until my head bloody explodes.   
  
Just the sort of thing those wankers at the Initiative would do.   
  
I sit up, reach for my pack and my lighter (luckily right here on the night stand), light up, and take a drag. Unlife is a bitch.   
  
Why am I bloody in bed, I ask myself, as I get up and start to dress. Creature of the night, aren' I? Certainly was the last time I checked. I should be out there prowlin', killin' things... or at least getting hammered at Willie's. Not lying here tucked into ma' beddie bye, like a righteous poofter. Like some sodding human.   
  
You'd think I actually _wanted_ to be one of them mortal gits.   
  
No bleedin' thanks.   
  
Perfectly happy as an evil, soulless demon. Hell, she'll hate me either way. She always finds a reason, dudn' she?   
  
I'm done dressing, and I throw on my coat. I think I'll go sit outside her window some. Smoke a few fags. Torture m'self a bit.   
  
Bring my handcuffs too. Might come in handy. Maybe this time it'll be like the dream. Maybe she's catch me. Or maybe this time I'll finally get up the balls to...   
  
Bloody hell. Who am I kidding?   
  
It's just...   
  
Been too long.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
***   
  
END   
  
  
  
i know this is kind of cruel. if u guys really want a happy ending, tell me so in ur review, & i just might write like an epilogue. but please say something about the story itself too, not just "i want a happy ending" 


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